Boom. That’s what it must have sounded like, the fireworks on the other side of the bay. Only he didn’t hear it because he had headphones on. Not that it made any difference. The point of a fireworks display was in the seeing rather than the hearing after all. He watched the riot of colors bursting and illuminating the starless February evening sky. To his surprise it did lift his spirits some, considering when he left the house he felt dejected as a half-eaten week-old apple. He even began to wish for the fireworks display not to end.
It did end however, the same time the song on his player ended. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again as the first few bars of the next song started to strum through his head. He scanned the seascape for some other vision he could focus his eyes on. Ah, he breathed as he spotted a cruise ship from a fair distance. He was nearsighted, but the lights adorning the sides of the ship were detailed enough for him to appreciate it from where he was. More than that, it was the ship’s reflection on the water which caught the best part of his attention. It looked like a wall of fire turned upside down, crawling slowly, eerily on liquid blackness. The image made him shiver, although he thought it was very beautiful. He watched it for a while until it disappeared into the darkening horizon.
He felt a rush of excitement all of a sudden. He wanted to text the one person on his mind, Hey, I’m by the bay right now. I wish you could see what I’m seeing. I miss you. And he almost did as a matter of fact, but he decided against it as soon as he finished typing up the message.
He closed his eyes once more, almost convincing himself there would be another spectacle for him to waste his time on when he opens them again. There wasn’t, and he felt genuinely disappointed. He looked at his watch. It had only been thirty minutes since he sat down, and he felt the disappointment rising. He rubbed his eyes and thought of shutting off his mp3 player, but decided against it. He’d rather be listening to two songs on repeat instead of the steady drone of the couple to his right, or the group of old ladies to his left.
He doesn’t feel like going home yet, but he doesn’t feel like staying either, so he stood up and started walking again. To where, he doesn’t know, and he’s not really thinking much about it. He’d turn wherever there’s a corner, sometimes he’d go straight. When his intuition tells him to go back, he would, and turn a different corner. Eventually he reached an uphill street. Normally he’d avoid it, but another swelling of memory urged him on.
“Do you know what a fog of war is?” his voice again, asking the person walking beside him. It was such a cold, cold morning when they were headed out to explore Baguio during the first day of their stay. Not that it was unusual for a place situated high above the mountains. The winds in that altitude were almost alive, like little kids careening through the atmosphere, playing before the whole world completely wakes up. “No, what is it?” the other person said, voice hinting a slight shiver as he buried his hands deep inside the pockets of his windbreaker.
He glanced at his companion as they were trudging along the constantly ascending and descending streets of Session Road, looking for a quiet place where they could have breakfast. “If you’ve played a role-playing game on a PC before, it’s the uncharted section on the map covered in black ‘fog.’ It clears up as you travel through the area, discovering different territories, letting the rest of the story unfold.”
“I see,” the other person whispered. He wanted to hold his hand. Walking the fringes of such a vast landscape of uncharted territory looming over him was, in all essence, both scary and exciting. To be here, now, with the one person he wants to be with the most... somehow gives him strength.
But, as it turns out a few days later, he discovered that his initial fear was not unfounded and his excitement might have been an illusion (delusion?) for something else. Within three short days, his original intent to relax and re-evaluate his life was pushed further and further into his mind, as he was instead enshrouded in a false sense of intemperance just by being with him. He became too childish, careless, reckless, and he was caught off guard until he realized it the last day when they were about to go home.
“Are these clouds?” he asked his companion. The bus was cruising down the side of the mountain, and what was supposed to be overlooking the landscape was instead a sea of pure whiteness. It was like a dream. “It's actually fog,” the other person said. “But from down the mountain it might seem like clouds.”
He pressed his head to the cool glass window, and felt something break inside. “I see.”
A week since they’ve arrived in Manila, and gravity has yet to catch up with him. Little pieces of his heart were still floating aimlessly in the clouds. Baguio has left him bereft of warmth, but he would give anything to go back. “I miss Baguio,” the other person txted. It took a while before he was able to send out a reply. “I think about it a lot,” he txted back.
“I see.”
